Hollywood has long ran out of ideas. They are currently milking every last drop of nostalgia money before moving onto stealing every actors face rights and pumping out buckets of Ai slop next.

Arrr, Hollywood’s well hath run dry o’ fresh tales, aye! They be squeezin’ the last doubloons from memories past, clingin’ to nostalgia like barnacles to a rotten hull. But mark me words, mateys—soon they’ll be pilferin’ every actor’s visage, hoardin’ their mugs like cursed treasure, and spewin’ forth a bilge-swill o’ hollow specters, conjured by sorcerous machines! A pox on their greed—’tis the end o’ art, I say, and the dawn o’ a ghastly puppeteer’s age!